We Are Part of the Night
by pasta-enthusiast
Summary: He saw her, and now he couldn't look away. Slow-burn John/OC
1. These Kids

**Chapter 1: These Kids**

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 _"... And these children that you spit on/ As they try to change their worlds/ Are immune to your consultations/ They're quite aware of what they're going through..."_  
—David Bowie, _Changes_

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 _Saturday, March 24, 1984  
Shermer High School  
Shermer, Illinois 60062_

 _Dear Mr. Vernon,_

 _We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it is what we did wrong. What we did was wrong, but we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. What do you care? You see us as you want to see us; in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. You see us a brain, an athlete, a basket-case, a princess, a foster, and a criminal. Correct? That's the way we saw each other at seven o'clock this morning._

 _We were brainwashed..._

* * *

Scout poked at the dark purple bruise under her eye, wincing at the bite of pain when her fingertips touched the skin. It was still tender. The brunette sighed, pushing her curls back from her forehead. Getting out of her car, she made sure to mask her expression into a blank one. The girl walked up the steps of Shermer High, basking in the warmth of the normally crowded hallways, and made her way to the library. She might have been a little late, but hopefully Vernon will look over that little glitch.

She walked through the threshold, ignoring the stares she got from the five other detainees and Vernon. Scout sat at the empty front desk—on her immediate right was two preps, Andrew Clark and Claire Standish, behind them was John Bender (the infamous burnout)—behind her was physics club member Brian Johnson, and behind him was Allison Reynolds, a quiet but talented girl. They made quite the group, didn't they? Scout removed her navy scarf, folding it as Vernon began to prattle on in that annoying, 'I'm-the-boss' voice.

"A little late, aren't we, Scheinberg?" He tsk'd. Scout wanted to throttle him.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said instead, making sure to sound genuine.

"Well, well, here we are." Vernon spoke with his usual air of arrogance. "I want to congratulate you all for coming."

"Excuse me, sir?" That was Claire's voice. Scout glanced at the redhead with bored eyes. Standish's raised hand fell slowly. "I think there's been a mistake. I know it's detention but, um, I don't think I belong in _here_."

 _It's not a damn prison cell, but,_ Scout thought to herself, rolling her eyes back to Vernon, _expect no pampering here, princess_.

Just as the brunette predicted, Vernon ignored Claire's statement, continuing his little introduction, "It is now seven-oh-six. You have exactly eight hours and fifty-four minutes to think about why you're here—" Scout restrained the urge to huff when a hacking noise began. Along with the rest, the brunette glanced over her shoulder and saw that Bender had coughed out a loogie, sending into the air before it fell back into his mouth. Scout promptly turned back to the front. "—and ponder the error of your ways," Vernon finished, throwing a sneer at John's interruption.

"And you may not talk." He gave the princess a pointed look and finger when she gave him a disgruntled expression. "You will not move from these seats." Brian paused in his movement, deciding to move back to his seat, making sure to not get on the principle's bad side. "And you will not sleep." As he said the last part, he yanked John's makeshift ottoman out from under his legs. Vernon paused, looking from Brian to John.

Then he proceeded with his little lecture. "Alright people, we're gonna try something a little different today. We are going to write an essay." He started handing out paper and pencils to everyone. "Of no less than a thousand words, describing to me who you think you are."

 _Easy enough,_ Scout thought, already twirling the pencil between her thumb and index finger. Writing things like this was her forte; she didn't make perfect grades in English for nothing.

"This a test?" Bender asked but was ignored.

"And when I say essay, I mean essay. I do not mean a single word repeated a thousand times. Is that clear Mr Bender?"

" _Crystal._ " John's voice was filled with boredom and a hint of sarcasm as he replied to the bothersome man.

"Good." Vernon seemed satisfied with the answer. "Maybe you'll learn a little something about yourself. Maybe you'll even decided wether or not you care to return."

Johnson raised his hand and then stood, stuttering out a half-hearted, "You know, I can answer that right now, sir... That'd be 'no', no for me 'cause—"

"Sit down Johnson."

"Thank you sir." Brian sat back down faster than when he stood.

"My office," Vernon pointed behind him at the room in front of the library, "is right across that hall. Any monkey business is ill-advised." He looked at each teenager, taking in their vastly different faces and expressions. "Any questions?"

Bender immediately stuck his hand in the air. "Yeah, I gotta question." You could almost hear the exasperated sigh Vernon didn't make but wanted to as he gave the troublemaker a suspicious look. "Does Barry Manilow know you raid his closet?"

Ah, there was the tick. "I'll give you the answer to that question, Mr. Bender, next Saturday. Don't mess with the bull, young man, you'll get the horns." The man left.

"That man," Bender voiced the moment Vernon crossed the doorway, "is a brownie hound."

Scout removed her heavy wool coat, leaving her in her dad's old Blackhawk jersey. She wasn't much of a sports fanatic, but if they were on she'd look like she was; she couldn't really help it. It was the competitiveness in her. What Scout didn't know in technicalities, she made up for enthusiasm. So, did she know anything in depth about the Blackhawks? Nah, but their merchandise sure was comfy.

Picking up her pencil, Scout was just about to start on her essay when there was a muffled snapping noise. Turning to the sound, she saw that it was Allison biting her nails. She should have known; she does have art class with the strange girl, so she knew her equally strange habits as well.

Finally, after a few seconds, Allison noticed she had an audience. She looked at the others through her dark bangs, clenching her jaw.

"You keep eating your hand and you're not gonna be hungry for lunch," Bender said in mock concern. Allison retorted by spitting part of her nail at him. Of course, it didn't go far, but hey, props for trying, right? "I've seen you before, you know…" Bender pointed at Reynolds before turning his gaze on the girl with tightly curled hair. "You too," he smiled then, pointing at the place under his eye as he remarked, "Nice shiner."

Scout stopped herself from scowling and simply turned away, refusing to show any reaction; especially to these sorts. After that, a lull fell, and her pencil danced across the paper.

 _Who am I? In short, I am Scout—no middle name—Scheinberg. I'm just like any other student here at Shermer High. I do what's asked of me when here, and I do what I have to when I'm not; it's a cycle. I don't really have any friends, but I don't really care. Befriending people isn't really my thing. I like to watch them instead. Sometimes, I'll even make up little stories for them, but since I already know who most of them are and what their lives are like, it's kinda of pointless._

 _Like I said, in short, I am Scout—no middle name—Scheinberg, I make good grades, and I like to watch people. But in the long of it?_

 _I am a foster kid. A foster who was adopted by a lovely couple who couldn't have any kids of their own. I love them with every fiber of my being, and I'd do anything to keep them in my life. They're my family now, the Myers. And trust me, they love me as much as I do them—they even wanted to give me their surname. I didn't take it though. Why? Because I wasn't a Myers at birth. I wasn't a Myers when my biological parents died; I wasn't a Myers when my uncle died; I wasn't a Myers when I chose what path I wanted to take._

 _I wasn't a Myers when I decided to not be who life was trying to make me be. I am a Scheinberg through and through; I am the Scheinberg life tried to change into a Myers who's life was perfect and there were no speed bumps. I am the Scheinberg who was bullied every day at the foster house for having a funny name, funny hair, and a funny nose. I am the Scheinberg who witnessed shit most people didn't witness in their lifetimes. And life wasn't going to take that away from me when I became the Scheinberg who was going to make something of herself._

 _I'm going to be the Scheinberg who got scholarships. I'm going to be the Scheinberg who went and graduated from the college of her dreams. I'm going to be the Scheinberg who's a best-selling author for children's books. I'm going to be the Scheinberg who's going to give the family she will create something her own didn't have the chance to give her._

 _I am going to be the Scheinberg life tried to make into a Myers._

 _I am the Scheinberg life tried to make into a Myers._

 _I am a foster with a family._

 _I am a Jew so many have tried to erase._

 _I am still here, and I am going to kick ass._

 _I am Scout—no middle name—Scheinberg; a girl who's biological parents died in a terrible fire; a girl who's uncle drank himself to death; a girl who was shunned till she couldn't even see the sun; a girl who learned how to be lonely; a girl who learned to find beauty in the moon and stars; a girl who embraced the sun once it found her again; a girl who is stronger than she may appear at first glance; a girl who is not afraid to walk through the dark tunnel without a lighter; I am a girl who has peered into the unending abyss; I am the girl with the funny last name, and funny hair, and funny nose._

 _I am Scout (like_ How to Kill A Mockingbird _)—no middle name—Scheinberg (a name that means "beautiful mountain" in German). I am not Scout Myers; I am not the girl who started all over; I am not a glitch within the system. I am a music maker, and a dreamer of dreams, but know of my reality and how to make it so. I am a world-loser and world-forsaker, but a first place taker. I am a mover and shaker, but am unmovable and unshakable force of nature._

 _Scout—no middle name—Scheinberg—that is who I am, Vernon._

 _I am the Scheinberg life abandoned; the Scheinberg who lost sight of who she was. I am the Scheinberg with scraped knees and broken ribs and fire in her lungs. I am the Scheinberg who life tried to kill._

 _But I did not die._

 _I am alive._

 _What am I?_

 _Who am I?_

 _I am a story maker._

 _A dream starter._

 _A foster with a dream of her own._

 _That is who I am, Vernon, and I didn't even have to think about it. I've always known who I was, and I never thought as being a waste of space; I was never what you thought of me as. Neither are these other kids. While we may judge one another, we are never what those judgements are. Only we know who we are, and no one can tell us any different._

 _We are not a waste, and we are not something to be taken lightly._

A whistle sounded over her shoulder, causing the junior to tense.

"Wrote a novel there, didn't ya?"

* * *

 **Disclaimer: I do not own The Breakfast Club. Although, I wish I did—it's a straight up classic masterpiece.**

 **Also, the "music makers, dreamer of dreams" bit is from Arthur O'Shaughnessy's Ode. It really is a great read!**

 **Anyways, I actually couldn't wait to publish this! Gosh, I am so pumped! Wooooo! WELCOME TO THE NEW AND IMPROVED "Ink and Cigarettes"! I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED IT! I CAN'T WAIT TO HEAR WHAT YOU ALL THINK OF THE CHANGES! WHOOP!**

 **Love ya!**

 **P.S. The title comes from Cold War Kids' song "Part of the Night".**


	2. How the Others Must See

**Chapter 2: How the Others Must See**

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A whistle broke through the air next to her ear, and a warmth settled over her own. Her muscles tensed as she felt whoever lean a bit closer; could feel their eyes moving across her paper.

"Wrote a novel there, didn't ya?" It was John Bender's voice in her ear; John Bender's body heat pressing against her back; John Bender's breath on the skin of her neck like a predator closing in on it's prey.

Scout moved her arms over the entirety of her paper, managing to get away from Bender's uncomfortable heat. She looked at him over her shoulder, trying to keep her composure but could feel the warmth of embarrassment clawing up her stomach and blossoming in her chest. The tips of her ears were no doubt red by this point. Hazel and brown eyes clashed. Bender smirked at the girl's reaction, leaning closer to her.

He had been admiring the back of her curls and part of her face for the past half hour, watching as she wrote furiously across that blank piece of paper. He wondered what she was writing that caused her to lose her focus; what had her so captivated that she didn't even notice that he had been standing behind her for ten minutes? And like always, if something bothered John Bender, he had to figure it out so it would stop. Now that he was right here in front of her, able to take in the smoothness of her lightly tanned skin, fine eyebrows, long lashes, and pink lips, he couldn't have been more satisfied.

Scout, on the other hand, was the complete opposite of satisfied. In fact, she was absolutely mortified that Bender had managed to sneak up on her like that. Her first reaction was to whirl around and punch the creep in his stupid smug face, but knowing that the thing that had the authority to give her another detention was just across the hall, she knew it wasn't worth it. So, she kept her mask in place as best as she could, recoiled to increase the distance between her and Bender, and waited for him to make a move.

The two stayed like that for a few minutes (a few minutes too much in Scout's opinion anyhow) before Bender finally said something. "So, how'd ya get that shiner, _Scheinberg_?" He drawled out her surname as much as he could, watching for any signs of how it affected her.

"If you think this is bad you should see the other guy," she couldn't help but say, voice strong, but quiet. There was no need to be loud since he was right there in her face, a few inches between them.

Bender's smirk widened. _Oh_ , he liked this one. "You're a real novelist there, Rocky," he said, nodding to the now hidden paper. Of course while he couldn't read everything (especially since her handwriting was a messy sprawl of tilted curves and loops), he did catch some things that looked like they could have been in a book English classes assign to torture students. But if those things came from a girl like this, Bender couldn't help but think he wouldn't mind as much.

Scout couldn't help but smirk at the name, shaking her head lightly, some of her curls hitting her cheekbones. John wondered what those curls looked like in the morning. "Thanks." She really didn't know what to say. While she was good at putting words on paper, she was never good at saying them. It was the main reason why she didn't have any friends; she didn't know how to talk and no one was interested in what she might have to say. But that was the thing about teenagers—they were selfish.

"Mind if I took a peek?"

"Kind of."

"Keeping it a secret only makes me wanna see it more, Rocky," he tsk'd at her, wriggling his index finger between their faces.

"You really wanna see it that badly?" Bender nodded, a brow raised. "I'll let you read it—if you solve a riddle for me." She gave him a cheeky smile.

Bender's face fell. He'd be the first to admit he wasn't book smart—sometimes he wondered why he made the effort in coming to school in the first place since he wasn't going to attempt to put the work in it, but he had something most of these bozos didn't; he had street smarts. That's more than what most of these monkeys could ever dream of having. John knew that he wouldn't be able to solve the riddle this girl would throw at him, and he wondered why he was even still in her space, enjoying the smile crinkling the edges of her eyes; she was just like everyone else. Always throwing something he didn't know in his face and relishing in his ignorance.

Clenching his jaw, he retreated back to his seat, missing the way Scout's face crumple back into the blank expression. Almost as if she was disappointed in his withdrawal. But she couldn't have been, right? There was no way for them to ever get along. They were just too different, and they would certainly clash too many times. They were from completely different worlds most would think. The quiet, mild mannered Scout and the loud, rebellious John were two different sides of two very different coins.

Weren't they?

Scout turned back to the front, folding her arms and resting her cheek against the soft fabric of her jersey. She made sure that she was facing the bookshelves so the preps couldn't see the deep frown on her lips, or her crinkled brow. _You fucking idiot,_ her thoughts screamed at her. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why didn't you just let him read the damn thing? You always have to make people chase you, don't ya?_

While Scout was preoccupied with her own shortcomings, Bender was trying to calm his own frustration. _She's just like everyone else in this fucking hellhole._ He crumpled the paper meant for an essay into a tight ball, letting his eyes glance between the ball and the two preps in front of him. If there was one thing John was good at doing, it was distracting himself when new playthings were presented. _Fuck Rocky, hellooo Cherry_. John threw the wadded up paper, making sure that it arched over Red's head.

Of course, the two preps ignored Bender's first effort in trying to get their attention, and like any other annoyance, he had plenty of ammo. John began humming the tune to _Sunshine of Your Love_ , stringing himself an imaginary guitar, "nah, nah, nah, nah…"

"I can't believe this is really happening to me," Claire said to herself, but made sure it was loud enough to where everyone else could hear her.

John's humming was cut off, but was replaced by him saying, "Oh, shit! What're we s'posed to do if we hafta take a piss?"

Scout looked over, watching the the exchange like it was an intense match of tennis. Claire's face twisted unattractively into a disgusted look. "Oh, please," she muttered.

"f you gotta go," Bender ignored the obvious disgust from the redhead, the sound of a zipper unzipping breaking through the air, "you gotta go!"

Scout's eyes widened at the teenager's tenacity of getting under someone's skin, secretly hoping that he wouldn't take it too far and actually piss; she did not want to smell urine for the next eight hours.

"Oh my God!" Claire gasped, her cheeks turning pink.

"Hey!" Andrew finally spoke up, glaring at the burnout. "You're not urinating in here man!"

With his eyes firmly planted on the table in front of him, Bender exclaimed, "Don't talk! Don't talk! It makes it crawl back up!"

"You whip it out and you're dead before the first drop hits the floor!"

John looked up, some of his hair covering his face as he gave the jock a smolder. "You're pretty sexy when you get angry," he said huskily. Then, to add more fuel to the fire, John tacked on a growl at the end. Turning his attention to his left, he addressed the dweeb at the table beside his, "Hey, homeboy—" the geek points to himself like he wasn't the only one at his table—"why don't you go close that door. We'll get the prom queen impregnated!"

Claire whipped around so fast Scout's brain put in a snap sound effect to add to the intensity of the argument. Bender stared the redhead down so hard Scout felt like he was eye-fucking Claire. Is that how he stared at her when she and him at been talking before? Scout mentally shook herself of those thoughts; no one ever looked at her like that and no one ever will.

"Hey!" Andrew called, unsuccessful in getting the troublemaker's attention off of his friend. "Hey!"

"What?" Bender's hazel eyes glared back at Clarke's.

"If I lose my temper, you're totaled man!"

"Totally?"

"Totally!"

"Why don't you just shut up! Nobody here is interested!" Claire thought it was a good time to add her two cents in—whoop.

"Really!" The two preps turned back around in their seats, trying to shake off Bender's attempts of getting on their nerves. "Buttface," Clark muttered under his breath.

 _What a lackluster insult there, sonny,_ Scout couldn't help but think, leaning back in her chair and watching the interaction with more pleasure than she would care to admit.

"Well hey Sporto!" John was far from done. "What'd you do to get in here? Forget to wash your jock?"

"Uh, excuse me, fellas?" Brian broke in, voice stuttering and unsure if he should be saying anything at all. "I think we should just write our papers—"

"Shush. I wanna see what happens," Scout cut off the other kid, throwing her arm out to the kid; a sign to stop talking.

Standish, Clark, and Bender didn't seem to have heard the other two as Clark jumped right back into the argument. "Look, just because you live in here doesn't give you the right to be a pain in the ass, so knock it off!"

Bender feigned a pained expression. "It's a free country."

"He's just doing it to get a rise out of you!" Claire said to Andrew, acting like she was all Miss Smarts because she figured out Bender's deal. "Just ignore him."

"Sweets," John made sure Claire was staring at him before continuing, "you couldn't ignore me if you tried." It was sound logic; someone could only ignore a fly for so long until it became unbearable. Claire rolled her eyes, her and Andrew turning back in their seats. "So… _so!_ Are you guys like boyfriend-girlfriend?" There was a pause as the two didn't answer. "Steady dates?" Again, no answer. "Looovers?" Silence. "Com'on Sporto, level with me. Do you slip her the _hot_ … _beef_ … _injection_?"

Scout couldn't blame the ugly and humiliating shade of red that flooded both Clark's and Standish's face as they spun around on Bender with murder in their eyes. She was pretty sure that the uncomfortable heat in her chest and neck wasn't from the warm temperature.

" _GO TO HELL!_ "

" _ENOUGH!_ "

"Hey!" Everyone held their breath as Vernon called out, "What's going on in there?" After a beat, they could hear him go back to whatever he was doing before.

Andrew and Claire, once again, turned away from John. "Scumbag," Andrew murmured, and Scout couldn't help but agree with him a bit. That was going way too far.

For a moment, everything was quiet, and Scout thought the whole thing was over. But she was wrong. John stood from his seat and walked over to the railing, perching himself on top of it. "What do you say we close that door, huh? We can't have any kind of party with Vernon checking us out every few seconds."

"That's the point," Scout found herself saying, and regretting in saying it when every turned their eyes on her. Bender's own stared her down. "Look, Bender, just—just leave it, alright? It's detention—it's s'pose to be torture." She shrugged her shoulders, looking around the room to see all eyes had fallen on her. She didn't like what she saw in those eyes—they looked like they were seeing her for the first time; as if she hadn't been here to begin with. Scout's jaw clenched, her own eyes falling to the table in front of her. "Whatever. Do whatever the hell ya want," she mumbled.

She turned away, laying her head back against her arms. She listened to the racket, to the teenagers fussing back and forth. She listened to Andrew and Claire as they ganged up on Bender, and she wished she had the carelessness to react and knock both of them out like she did to that bully Wednesday. But she couldn't risk her future; she made a deal with Vernon that if she complied with his rules, he wouldn't put that fight on her transcript. She couldn't afford to miss out on the achieving her dreams—not when she was so close. So, she kept her mouth shut…

"You know, Bender… you don't even count. I mean if you disappeared forever it wouldn't make any difference. You may as well not even exist at this school."

Even when it hurt like hell to do so.


End file.
